5 Things That Never Happened to Kevin Wordsworth
by Ace Bullets
Summary: Okay, Wordy's the man. And there aren't enough fics about him. So here's the continuing project of '5 Things' as I work through the entire SRU gang. Enjoy.
1. Domestic

**A/N: Like the title suggests, this will be five things that *never happened* to Wordy. If you've read the ones centered around Ed, then you'll have a pretty good idea what this is all about. Enjoy.**

**Five Things That Never Happened to Kevin Wordsworth**

_**Domestic**_

The young woman still had a terrified look in her eyes, even though the threat had long passed.

Sam Braddock would be facing another SIU hearing when they got back to SRU Headquarters, but everyone on the team pretty much knew it was justified. After all, the man had been holding a gun to his wife's head, threatening to kill her. Nothing Sergeant Greg Parker said was getting through to him, and the man was escalating.

_She's still in shock_, SRU Constable Kevin 'Wordy' Wordsworth decided, as he looked at her pale figure. He could see she was actually shivering, even though she was wrapped securely in a blanket as she sat in the back of the ambulance.

"Melissa," he said gently, trying not to startle her.

Her head jerked up, and her eyes bulged even wider.

Wordy cringed inside. The poor girl was hyper-reflexive; over-reacting to anything and everything.

"Sorry," he in a hushed tone.

She swallowed hard, and took a gulp of air.

Discreetly, Wordy scrutinized her. Sallow complexion. Hollow cheeks. Ugly, black and blue bruise around her left eye. In spite of the summer heat, Melissa was wearing a long-sleeved, crew-neck sweater.

"Melissa," Wordy said again, deliberately forcing himself to whisper, "he's not going to hurt you anymore."

Melissa's face crumpled, and she dissolved into tears, shoulders shaking.

Feeling helpless, and not wanting to overstep the bounds of professionally acceptable behaviour, Wordy nevertheless reached out and wrapped a soothing arm around her. She cringed at first, then allowed him to stroke her back. Over and over he repeated that she was going to be okay; that she was safe.

Melissa's emotional meltdown eventually ran its course, and she sniffled a few times before Wordy released her.

"Thank you," she said, without meeting his gaze.

It was breaking Wordy's heart to see that she was still so trapped in a mindset of a subservient, second-class citizen. She couldn't even bring herself to look him in the eye.

Wordy was struck by a sudden memory of another girl, so similar to Melissa, that it was almost like being hit by lightning.

_Oh God! Those neighbours Tania and I used to have all those years ago... what were their names? _

_I remember she was blonde, cute, but always reserved...and he was always a bit of a loud-mouth show-off..._

_Shelley and Hank – those were their names! _

_That abusive son of a bitch! _

Fury seized Wordy, and he wondered what had become of that former neighbour, praying someone had been more observant than he.


	2. Minivan Express

**A/N: Just so there's no confusion here, this fic is about Wordy doing car-pool duty for one of his (unnamed) daughters, and four of her classmates. Only one classmate has been given a name - Miles- just because it's easier to keep track of all the people speaking. Enjoy.**

**Five Things That Never Happened to Kevin Wordsworth**

_**Minivan Express**_

"Okay, gang, is everybody buckled in all safe and sound?"

"Yes!"

"Yeah!"

"Me, too."

"I am, Daddy."

"Yes, Mr. Wordsworth!"

"Great. Everybody had a potty break before we left the school?"

"Yes!"

"Yeah."

"Uh-huh."

"I didn't have to go, Daddy."

"I didn't either, Mr. Wordsworth."

"Well, that's good. Welcome aboard the 'Wordsworth Coach', kids. Destination: Royal Ontario Museum, where you're going to see a lot of cool stuff for your field trip...I'm Mr. Wordsworth, which Miles already seems to know, and I'll be your driver today, as well as your en-route entertainment. Ahem-ahem!..._The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and rouuund_-"

"_Da-_ddy!"

"Yes, honey?"

"This isn't a _bus_; it's a _van_!"

"You're absolutely right...Okay, how's this? _The wheels on the _van _go round and round, round and round, round and round! The wheels on the _van _go round and round, all through the town!_"

"Hey, Mr. Wordsworth, do you know any _other_ songs?"

"Why sure, Miles. Any special requests?"

"I dunno. Just nothing lame like 'The Wheels on the Bus'. That's for like, kids in Kindergarten! We're in Grade _Two_."

"Okay, gang. Miles wants something more sophisticated. You guys want to hear something else?"

"Yeah!"

"Okay!"

"Sure."

"If you want to, Daddy."

"Yes, Mr. Wordsworth!"

"Hmm, let's see, then... Something mature enough for the smart seven-year-olds that you are, but not so crazy that your parents will be mad at me if you go home tonight and sing it for them..."

"_My_ parents won't be mad, Mr. Wordsworth."

"Thanks for the heads up, Miles... Okay, howabout this one: _De hat I got for Chreestmas ees too beeg. Eet's nice, but my sombrero ees too beeg! Ees eet raining? Ees eet snowing? I can't see where I am going, de hat I got for Chreestmas ees too big!_"

"Mr. Wordsworth, what's a 'sombrero'?"

"It's one of those big, Mexican hats, Miles."

"Oh."

"Daddy, why did you sing that song like that?"

"What do you mean, sweetheart?"

"The words were all funny. Like 'Chreestmas'. It just sounds all wrong."

"Oh, well... that's just the way it goes. It's sort of like a parody; a novelty song."

"Mr. Wordsworth..."

"Yes, Miles?"

"What's a 'parody'?"

"Uh, it's sort of like when you poke fun at something. Like making a joke about someone or something serious."

"But, Mr. Wordsworth, our teacher says making fun of people isn't nice. She says making fun of people is mean, and we shouldn't tease."

"Oh, well, this is different, Miles... a parody isn't supposed to be _mean_...it's just supposed to make people laugh..."

"Maybe you should do a different song, Dad."

"Well, why don't you guys sing something? I'm sure your teacher has taught you stuff in school..."

"Oh, oh! I know! Daddy, can we sing 'I Know an Old Lady' ?"

"Sure, honey. Take it away."

"Okay! Miles, I'll start, and then _you_ can do that part that goes '_I guess she'll __die_', alright?"

"Alright."

"Good! _I know an old lady who swallowed a fly, I don't know why she swallowed the fly..._"

"..."

"Miles...it's _your_ turn..."

"What? Oh, sorry."

"Well? Go ahead. Sing your part."

"Um...Mr. Wordsworth, where are we?"

"What, Miles?"

"I think we're lost!"

"We're not _lost_, Miles."

"But this isn't the way to the Royal Ontario Museum! My dad took me and my cousins last Summer, and we didn't go this way. We're going to miss the field trip!"

"I'm taking a different way. Don't worry, we're not going to miss anything."

"Oh...okay."

"Daddy, I'm _bored_! Miles won't sing along with me, and there's nothing else to do!"

"Honey, we're almost there. It's not much longer 'til we're there, really."

"How _much_ longer?"

"About ten minutes."

"Ugh! _Ten_ minutes?"

"If you don't want to sing anymore, why don't you play a game, like 'I Spy'? You like that game don't you?"

"I guess..."

"Mr. Wordsworth..."

"_Yes_, Miles?"

"I gotta use the bathroom..."

* * *


	3. Just a Handyman

**A/N: Yes, it's been a while since I updated my 'Wordy' 5 Things anthology. Here's more silliness. Hope you enjoy it.**

**5 Things That Never Happened to Kevin Wordsworth**

**Just a Handyman**

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why the lyrics to Dire Strait's _Money for Nothing_ were running through Kevin Wordsworth's head.

"You can just put the microwave over there," Mrs. Penelope Vanderford instructed, pointing with a slender finger towards the dining room, indicating an imported teak dining table. She was wearing a white sundress with a plunging neckline and short hem, revealing enough skin to show she'd probably already been to the tanning salon more than once for the season.

Kevin, dressed in faded jeans with a tool-belt strapped to his waist, white T-shirt and steel-toed boots, caught sight of a flash of deep, red nail polish on her immaculately-manicured nails.

"Will do, ma'am," Kevin said, as he hefted the heavy appliance from the spacious island in the middle of the equally spacious kitchen.

"Oh, you don't have to 'ma'am' me," she said with a laugh, swishing her hand through the air in a gesture of dismissal. "That sort of old-fashioned nonsense went out the window in my _grandmother's_ time."

"Sure," Kevin replied easily, and gently set down the microwave, trying to mask his look of consternation over Penelope's apparent lack of concern for the finish on the expensive tabletop. He returned to the kitchen, and noticed not for the first time how Mrs. Vanderford's green eyes followed him around.

"Well, then, that's everything moved out of your way, right?" she asked.

"Yes," Kevin replied, nodding at the area in the kitchen that was about to become his workspace. The stainless steel oven, refrigerator, and dishwasher had all been moved aside, and he was about to embark on installing a brand-new set of custom kitchen cabinets and a granite countertop on what was at present a rather ugly Formica island.

"Okay, I'll leave you to it," Mrs. Vanderford said gaily, "let me know if you need anything!"

"I will, Mrs. Vanderford. Thanks."

"It's _Penny_, for heaven's sake! Don't 'Mrs.' me, either! What am I, an old lady?" she said with a playful pout, twining her pearl necklace around the slender fingers of her right hand. She fussed her shoulder-length russet-dyed hair with the other hand.

"No, no you're not an old lady," Kevin said in placating tones, "…Penny." _But you are married_…

Penny smiled with satisfaction. "Good," she said. "And I meant what I said earlier."

Kevin looked up from the large box filled with un-assembled pieces of kitchen cabinet. "What's that?"

"'Let me know if you _need_ anything'," Penny repeated, with emphasis.

"Oh, yeah," Kevin said, "right."

He returned his attention to the box and moved to open it, trying to ignore the fact that 'Penny' was lingering in the entrance to the kitchen; he was keenly aware she was watching him.

_Oh, well,_ he thought. _Just get down to installing this stuff. The sooner you get out of here, the better._

Kevin carefully removed all the components, laying everything out on the tiled floor in a manageable order. As he squatted, his back to Penny, Kevin tried to appear to be in deep concentration. He hoped his body language would indicate to her a strong sense of '_Do not disturb'_.

After a few minutes, the diminishing sound of clicking high heels on the floor alerted Kevin to the fact that Penny had finally retreated.

_Sheesh,_ he thought. _Who wears high heels inside the house?_

He tried to picture his own beautiful Shelley chasing down their three girls in high heels. _Never gonna happen_, he thought. With a shrug, Kevin returned to the cabinets in earnest.

Kevin knew he'd been hired for the job because the previous worker – actually _from _the interior design/remodelling company – had had one too many disagreements with Penny; she'd revealed as much when Kevin signed on for the job.

"_I like the stuff they make and their designs and all that,"_ she'd said, _"but what a rotten attitude!_ _He was rude and condescending. My husband and I tossed him out. My neighbour recommended you. She said you did some work for her in their kitchen, and she was really satisfied… Hmm. Just by looking at you, I can see why."_

Kevin rolled his eyes at the memory of that conversation.

A few minutes later, he was admiring the yet-to-be-assembled pieces of cabinets made of lovely cherry wood with a dark 'Espresso' finish, all laid out on the floor. The dismantling of the old set of cabinets and the re-finishing of the wall and other surfaces had already been attended to by the guy previously contracted for the job.

Kevin's ears perked up at the sound of clicking heels, indicating that Penny had returned.

_Oh, great. What does she want now?_

"You know, I'm at a total loss at what to call you…" she started, giving him a coy look. "I'm sure you can't abide 'Mr. Wordsworth' any more than I can abide 'Mrs. Vanderford'…"

"Uh, I guess 'Kevin' is fine, Penny," he responded uncomfortably, feeling as if she were trying to ascertain the name of a pet dog, "though people mostly call me 'Wordy'. You know, 'Wordsworth' ... 'Wordy'…"

"Ah, so not because you're a talkative sort of man," Penny said, smiling broadly.

"Nope. I'm pretty much a man of few words," Kevin affirmed.

"Yes, well, I'm sure you're the sort of man for which the adage 'Actions speak louder than words' holds true, hmm?"

"Yeah, that's me, alright," Kevin responded dryly.

There were a few beats of uncomfortable silence, and Wordy was at a loss as to how to get rid of the clingy Mrs. Vanderford.

"Um, Penny," he started, "it's about to get noisy in here while I get the drill going to assemble some of these pieces… I hope that doesn't disturb you too much…"

"It won't," she replied easily, still keeping her eyes on him.

Wordy sighed inwardly. _Fine_, he thought decisively. _Let her stare…_

He reached into his sack of tools for his power drill and fished out the proper drill bit._ Look all you want, Penny; I just hope your mother taught you not to touch._

Over the din of the drill, Wordy did not hear Penny creeping up closer to him, did not see her bending closer to look at his rear, but he did he hear the explosive "_What the hell?"_ shouted from the dining room.

In a flash, Kevin switched off the drill, and jumped a foot in the air when he saw Penny behind him, a look of guilty surprise on her face quickly replaced with one of sweet innocence.

"Penny!" the other voice boomed. "Who the _hell_ put this microwave on the teak table?"

Wordy cleared his throat, and the person to whom the voice belonged stalked into the kitchen.

"My husband," Penny muttered under her breath, a sweet smile still plastered to her face.

Mr. Vanderford's face was red with unexpressed rage. He was dressed in a pricey tailored suit and gripped a leather briefcase very tightly in his right hand.

"Who the hell is _this?_" he asked, raising his briefcase and gesturing in Wordy's direction.

"Uh, I'm Kevin Wordsworth… I'm-"

"Another one of my wife's boyfriends?" Mr. Vanderford interrupted with a sneer, taking a few menacing steps further into the kitchen.

"Marcus!" Penny chided.

Marcus sent a look of disgust Penny's way. "Don't 'Marcus' me, Penny!"

Penny dropped her head and lowered her eyes in submission.

Marcus turned his attention back to Kevin. "_You_…"

There was a distinct smell of booze coming from Marcus that Kevin detected. _Probably had a three-martini lunch_, he thought with condemnation, but did his best to hide his disgust.

"Hey, look," Kevin said smoothly, trying to take a calming approach, "I'm just a handyman…"

"Yeah, I'll bet you are. I'll bet you're _very_ handy," Marcus said tersely, slightly slurring his words. "I want you outta my house, now! Kitchen remodelling time's over! Beat it!"

"Marcus," Penny rebuked, "you're drunk."

"And _you're_ a cheating little two-faced-sl-"

"Hey! Watch your language!" Wordy interrupted before Marcus could finish his predictably vulgar sentence.

"I thought I told you to beat it," the drunken man shot back insolently.

Wordy looked uneasily between Penny and Marcus. Sure, he could leave, but he was fearful for what might happen if he did. Marcus was clearly the type of man who liked to throw his weight around, and with a few martinis in him, the alcohol was only exacerbating the situation.

Marcus' eyes were red-rimmed and bulging with fury. If he'd been a cartoon character, Wordy was pretty sure there would be smoke coming out of his ears. He stood his ground.

"I told you to _get out_!" Marcus bellowed. "You're trespassing. If you're not gone in five seconds, I'll have the police remove you."

"Marcus…" Penny whispered.

"Enough from you!" her husband shot back.

"Mr. Vanderford, I don't like how you talk to your wife," Wordy said.

"You don't, eh?" retorted Marcus. He took an uneven step towards Kevin and threw a languid punch in his general direction.

Kevin easily sidestepped the errant fist, and Marcus's momentum caused him to topple forward and fall to the kitchen floor.

"Marcus!" Penny cried.

When the man did not rise, she began to panic.

Kevin bent down, checked over the fallen man, and turned him on to his side so he was lying the recovery position.

"He's just passed out," Kevin said. "Let him sleep it off."

Penny just stared at her husband's motionless form, his hand still gripping his briefcase.

"He's not always like this," she said plaintively. "He just gets jealous when he's been drinking. He'd never hurt a fly."

"Right," Kevin replied dubiously.

"No, really! He's never laid a hand on me, or anybody, if that's what you're thinking." Penny countered.

"Whatever, lady," Kevin said, gathering up his belongings.

"Wait, where are you going?"

"Home," Kevin answered. "I've had enough drama for one day."

"You can't leave! You're the fourth handyman to abandon this job!" Penny pleaded.

"Sorry. I don't need to deal with flirty wives and drunk, jealous husbands!"

"Well," Penny said with a pout of dismay, waving her hands around the kitchen, "who's going to finish all this?"

"You want my advice?" Kevin asked.

Penny stared at him, awaiting an answer.

"If you want someone to work for you, hire a handy-_woman_!"


End file.
